


One Track Mind

by MoanDiary



Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [8]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Couch Sex, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Linda BIG TIME horny, Post-Season/Series 04, Prompt: Butts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22621183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: Now that Charlie is born, and healthy, and not flying around her house willy-nilly, colliding with spinning ceiling fans, her libido is making a strong case for The Amenadiel Option.
Relationships: Amenadiel/Linda Martin (Lucifer TV)
Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626784
Comments: 18
Kudos: 57





	One Track Mind

Amenadiel is not husband material.

Linda knows this far too well. She also knows, with a psychiatrist’s insight, that she has a pattern of being attracted to men who are not husband material. Reese was a mess. Inattentive, hyperactive, _obsessed_ with work. She loved him for his drive and his passion, but he never seemed very passionate about her until she left him.

Lucifer was...well, Lucifer. She knew from the very beginning that he wasn’t in it for a relationship, and in a way that was a relief. For a time, it could just be meaningless (and ethically reprehensible) sex with an extremely eccentric patient.

Amenadiel, though… For a time, she did consider a relationship with him. Compared to Lucifer, at least, he’s steady and dedicated. He makes his share of mistakes, but he owns up to them afterwards. He longs for responsibility, for a mission. He sees the world through the joyful, wondering eyes of someone who doesn’t understand it, not really.

And to top it all off, he has a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. 

During the panicked terror of her pregnancy, it was easy to remind herself of all the reasons why encouraging Amenadiel’s affections was a bad idea. He’s an angel, for one. He has no context for how to go grocery shopping or find any kind of decently paying job or navigate a minivan through the daycare pickup lane. He once earnestly served her several stalks of raw asparagus on a plate when she was eight months along and grumpy and demanded “something Italian” for dinner. He also doesn’t strictly exist as a person by any governmental standards, and she’s painfully aware that without Lucifer around to charm his brother’s way into possession of a Social Security Number, it probably wouldn’t be technically possible to put him on her car insurance, much less to marry him.

But now that Charlie is born, and healthy, and not flying around her house willy-nilly, colliding with spinning ceiling fans, her libido is making a strong case for The Amenadiel Option.

She initially hopes she’d be able to treat him a little like a live-in nanny, a completely platonic stay-at-home-dad-slash-roommate. He doesn’t have a job, and his social life is limited mainly to her and Maze ever since Lucifer left. Taking care of Charlie is his entire world, which would be a little sad if it weren’t so goddamn endearing. He reads parenting books voraciously, and frets over their often contradictory advice. Each day when she comes home from work, he has a detailed report of the day’s events and developments ready to deliver to her. “Charlie smiled at a bird outside” is described with the same grave awe as “Charlie took an explosive dump mid-diaper change.”

She thinks there must be some deeply-ingrained evolutionary imperative to be turned on by a man taking care of a child, especially _your_ child. She has honestly never found him sexier than when he’s gently bouncing Charlie in one large, muscular arm while using the other to warm a bottle. He cuts a very attractive figure, silhouetted in the kitchen light while she watches from the living room.

He feeds Charlie, burps him, and puts him down—honestly much more quickly and expertly than she could—and then joins her on the couch with a relaxed sigh.

“You two have a good day?” she asks, emptying her post-dinner glass of wine. Which followed her two peri-dinner glasses of wine. She thanks her lucky stars that she couldn’t manage to get breastfeeding to work out, because her life is far too stressful to be completely sober any longer than nine months. She settles deeper into the couch cushions, turning to face him and propping her head up on one hand, feet tucked up underneath her.

“Yes. I took him on a long walk down to the beach. We went out to play in the waves a little and enjoy my Father’s creation.” He gives her a serene, glowing smile. The mention of God, her son’s grandfather, presumably omnisciently watching them at this very moment, usually manages to put a damper on her libido, but tonight there must be something in the air.

“That sounds really nice,” she says, biting her lip, and letting her gaze rake down his body. She casually twirls a lock of hair that’s fallen from her loosened bun around one finger.

Amenadiel’s eyes darken and dart to her mouth, lips parting. He’s cautious and solicitous, of course. Won’t make the first move even now, even when she’s being _so obvious_. He really is just painfully obtuse, so like his younger brother sometimes that she wants to scream.

But instead, she grabs him by his collar and pulls his mouth to hers. He could resist if he wanted to, but he follows her easily, melting into her. His lips are soft and careful against hers, as soft as his body is hard and strong. Her hands creep around to fasten onto his perfect, perfect ass, gripping it as she clambers onto him.

“Linda, are you sure you—” he murmurs, voice pitched low to avoid disturbing Charlie.

She presses another swift, lingering kiss to his lips. “Can you just...just shut up?”

He gulps and nods, closing his mouth and watching as she unbuttons her blouse and hikes up her skirt.

She saw a lot of evidence of Maze’s tutelage in him when they first had sex. A bit too much aggression, a bit too much edge, but it wasn’t natural for him, so it was easy to train him out of. She sensed he was very conscious of the fact that his performance would be put in direct contrast to Lucifer’s. He had the textbook anxiety of an eldest child who felt they bore the burden of being the best, of working the hardest. In this, he was jealous of Lucifer’s apparent natural, effortless talent at giving pleasure. If doctor-patient confidentiality hadn’t forbidden it, she could have reassured him that he was naturally talented at many things Lucifer struggled with and longed for: clarity of vision, of purpose, the ability to express affection and appreciation easily and openly, the ease with which he winged back into God’s good graces after determining himself angelic again.

But now, he’s perfectly tuned to what she needs. If Linda didn’t, deep down, long for a partner who would understand her both in bed and out of it, it would be easy for her to choose him, heavenly baggage and all. 

He rips her panties off in a show of celestial strength and reverses their positions, tumbling her onto her back. She giggles, head spinning a bit with the three glasses of wine. She rucks up his shirt and runs eager hands along his abs and pectorals as he shoves his pants down. He’s already hot and hard between her legs, clearly just as eager to do this again as she was. There’s another thing he doesn’t need to feel inadequate about—he and Lucifer are _of a size,_ and that size is _very_ substantial. She smiles dreamily, thinking about it, and of course he misunderstands her.

“Linda, I’ve missed you, too,” he says earnestly, soulfully. He caresses her face as he enters her, and she doesn’t have it in her to tell him that’s not what this is about. This is about “Linda Is Very Thirsty and Needs to Get Her Rocks Off.” This is about “Please, This Baby-Induced Dry Spell Has Been Awful.”

She gives him a tight smile and nods vaguely in return, hoping she can smooth this over tomorrow when she’s a little less drunk and desperately horny. She starts to roll her hips as much as she’s able with him on top of her, and at least he takes that hint.

He begins to move in earnest and all of her concerns and anxieties fly out the window. She wraps her legs around his waist and lets him go to town, each thrust forcing a high, breathy whimper out of her. Her feet slide against his tight, flexing butt and she bites her lip again in gratification. She tries to rake her fingernails down his back but, as it was with Lucifer, it’s clear that she isn’t making much impact at all, at least not compared to what it was like when he was fallen.

“Linda,” he groans, brushing his lips up her neck.

“Amena...diel,” she replies. The name still doesn’t really lend itself to being moaned, and she wishes they’d settled on a nickname. She would have even been willing to settle on “Nadiel,” which has a vaguely, nonspecifically Middle Eastern vibe to it that would make it easier to pass off as normal to friends and colleagues when they asked about the father of her child, and—

His fingers have found their way to her clit, and her thoughts short-circuit.

“Oh,” she says. “Ohhhh.” Her voice rises in pitch and volume as he drives her relentlessly towards the edge, thrusts quickening. “Yes. Yes. _Yes. Yesyesyesyes—_ ”

Her eyes cross and her vision blurs a little as she comes. She sags back onto the couch, the pleasure slowly mellowing into trembling aftershocks, and she’s vaguely aware of him tensing and nearing completion above her.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she exclaims as his face begins to contort, and she squirms backwards enough that he slips out and only slides against her outer lips for his final thrust before coming onto her belly. He half-collapses onto her, just barely managing not to crush her.

Once he recovers, he pulls back and looks down at her with a puzzled expression. “You used to always ask me to ejaculate inside of you.”

Linda scoffs. “That’s when I thought angels and humans were fundamentally genetically incompatible. See how wrong I was?” she says, gesturing in the direction of Charlie’s bedroom.

“But I’m an angel again, now,” he replies insistently. “It’s perfectly safe.”

The baby monitor beside them lights up as Charlie starts to whimper, likely roused by the noises they made.

“I’ll get him,” she sighs, wiggling out from underneath him, climbing to her feet, and pulling her skirt back down.

“Would a second child be such a bad thing?” Amenadiel calls after her as she heads down the hall.

She remembers once again: Amenadiel is not husband material.


End file.
